


Fallen Feathers

by TheWholeDamnTime



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: F/M, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, Spoilers S1 E115
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-24
Updated: 2019-12-24
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:41:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21942328
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheWholeDamnTime/pseuds/TheWholeDamnTime
Summary: The fallout of Vax'ildan's death on Vox Machina.Written before the second half of the episode, so some of it isn't canon compliant.
Relationships: Keyleth/Vax'ildan (Critical Role), Percival "Percy" Fredrickstein Von Musel Klossowski de Rolo III/Vex'ahlia
Kudos: 20





	Fallen Feathers

Keyleth gathers the feathers. Careful and deliberate, she puts them into a bag and tucks it away for later, shaking her head and bringing her chin up to face the world while their eyes all rest on what remains of Vox Machina.

She doesn't touch it for days. Instead, she lets it sit on her side in a pouch, knowing that it's there and knowing that the last remnants of a Vax'ildan were carried with her. For those days, she can't bring herself to look at them. Red hair splayed around her, she cries into a pillow and hugs the bag close to her body, unable to open it and face its contents and instead allowinf herself to shield herself from what slivers of the reality she can.

It takes weeks, but one day she opens it. Thin fingers pull out a long black raven's feather and she looks deep into it. She sees how the light reflects off of it and marvels at how it's almost iridescent and yet dark as night.

It is a perfect representation of Vax.

She cleans them, cares for them, tidies them with a thin, pained smile pressed between her lips. Her fingers work their way through her hair quickly, skilled and trained after the many years of dealing with its windswept wildness, and in a mere moment she finished her work and looks at it hanging there, the beautiful swish of darkness braided into the fiery red. It takes her a moment to grasp the new image before her hands raise from their rested position and she picks up a new feather.

There's always one in her hair. Braided on her right side, the longest feather she has is worked into her hair and standing with her through thick and thin. On bad days, her hair is more feather then flames, more black braided in to carry with her and add strength to her spine. Her hair is itself a war Bennett on those days, each feather a memory she keeps to bolster her resolve.

But every morning she puts them, in braids them in, watches how they shimmer and contrast with her fair skin.

She remembers. She remembers the smirk of his smile and his cheeky grin, the flash of his daggers as they flew through the air, his warm arms and wide wings around her. She remembers she takes them out every night, cleans them, brushes them, ensures that they are smooth and beautiful. She applies wax to make sure they're still shiny and touches them up every time they need care. They are tucked away in a jewelry box each night and replaced in her hair each day, and Keyleth remembers day after day, month after month, year after year. Each day, for what feels like eternity, she does this as the pain slowly lessens. It's her morning ritual and her evening solace, her way of honoring his memory and knowing that one day she will see him again. 

It is when she is old and the dark feathers contrast silver gray hair mixed amongst the still fiery red, the hundreds and hundreds of years finally starting to show their mark on her, that she knows she will see him soon. As she trains who will be the new leader of the Air Ashari age finally starts to make its mark on her. It is a moment that she treasures when she wraps and twists the thin Gray strands with the dark black, most of the memories of faded at the edges, sharp details and hard lines gone and instead the memories of him still lay there, an amorphous thought, a flash of a smile, and all of the love that she carries in her heart.

She watches her young successor grow, and feels the time starting to wear at her body. Her joints begin to ache when she braids in the feathers. She knows the time is coming, but it's okay because she knows what's waiting for her on the other side. She knows, and as she gazes out over her tribe with pride, watches the children play and the people smile, she knows that they will be all right. She knows that she's ready to go now, too.

She's laying in bed when the knock on the door comes, and she smiles. She feels lighter and lithe as she sits up and stands, walks to the jewelry box and pulls out the feathers and quickly braids them into her hair, all fire red, not a grey strand to be found. Memories of her life come flooding back to her, crisp and perfect and clear as she once knew them as she steps towards the door and her hands rests on the handle, soft and smooth and unweathered by age. She opens the door and smiles, because there he is, waiting for her with an outstretched hand. He smiles, still as cheeky as the day she met him, and she reaches out to take it with a firm grasp and tears at the corners of her eyes.

"Ready, Kiki?" he asks, voice low and raspy yet warm with love, and she feels the world slip away from her as she squeezes his hand and nods, stepping forward into their next adventure.


End file.
